Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination. - Oscar Wilde
Being a quintessential American, and therefore a die-hard believer in free-market economies, I tend to look at the world with a capitalist sensibility. While dressage functions in its own solar system and typically is ill-suited for this mindset on many different levels, I regard my time with Nicole with the same concern for return on investment as Ol' John Pierpont Morgan did for his banking conquests.
The sport of dressage, being the incidental love child of the European aristocracy and the armed forces, really doesn't lend itself to the capitalist mentality for 3 reasons. Primo, capitalism in its purest form is sustained by the free thinker. Since historically neither the aristocracy nor the armed forces approve of "thinking outside the box," dressage was not born to promote the rugged individualism that sustains a free-market economy. The standard dressage uniform proves my point.
I'd like to say that this is because there's nothing new under the training sun, but in reality I think it's because dressage, like all sports, fosters a dependence on the teacher, so that the student generally doesn't feel comfortable outside of the feudal norm to make their own decisions (whether we want to admit it or not). Having participated in several sports, I feel comfortable asserting that this isn't unique to dressage, but rather typical across the athletic board.
Secundo, dressage is the only sport that went from barbarism to decadence without civilization in between. What began as a method to better enable one to slaughter enemies soon became the playground of the well-heeled, creating a sort of distorted monetary inflation in the equus sense. Once you've participated in dressage, your view of financial reality becomes somewhat altered. When you buy a dressage horse, you basically buy it for pleasure (i.e., sentimentalism), and any sort of financial conservatism tends to go out the window with the bathwater.
Poor Johnny Boy Morgan would turn over in his grave at the cost of horsecare, training, and shows; the ardent capitalist wouldn't approve of this sort of willy-nilly spending unless they were the seller. When you own a dressage horse, somehow it becomes reasonable to buy $20 oil to supplement your horses feed; hearing friends complain about their $1600 air ticket to India makes your eyes roll, because that was, after all, how much you spent on board and training last month; and spending $20,000 on what's effectively a pet is considered cheap.
Tertio, capitalists judge everything by "return on investment." There's an old joke that goes like this: "How do you make a small fortune in the horse business? Start with a large fortune." Horses in general just don't lend themselves to any sort of return on investment except in terms of intangibles, such as pleasure or pride. It's quite rare to actually make money on a horse; most money is made on training and lessons, which is mostly based on human labor. Any sane capitalist would regard the horse business with a jaundiced eye and avoid it like the Black Plague.
However, with regards to Nicole's training I consider return on investment very important. One of the mare's quirks is an extreme anxietal reaction to any sort of open doorway. (Note, we don't have any of these issues when schooling outside in a ring or in a field). Whether walking in hand or actually training in saddle, she tends to shy away violently from open doorways. At this new barn, this means that we can only use 2/3rds of the arena, as her particular issue with with a doorway at one end of the arena. I don't think I need to explain how ridiculous it is to only use 2/3rds of an arena.
I'm done with trying to train it out of her - the time spent making her comfortable with open doorways is time I could be spending on something more valuable, like working on balance and transitions, or God forbid, myself. Additionally, we are unlikely to be in a competition setting where an open doorway comes into play; most shows are outside.
Most importantly, however, I see it as a never-ending cycle; as soon as I get her comfortable with the doorway, someone (or some cat) will appear, and we will be back to square one. If someone else wants to take a shot at training this out of her, then have at it, but I think it's pointless. Instead, I plan to just close doors as I can, and hopefully she will forget that there ever was an opening in the wall altogether. I did so yesterday, and she was marginally better after a few rotations around the ring.
Perhaps someone with more time and patience could train her out of it, and to that guy I take my hat off. But I think the return on that investment is too little compared to the other things I can work with her on. J.P. Morgan would be proud.
